Threads of Sanity
by Sagsun the Jedau
Summary: An attempt at a retelling of StarFox64 from a separate perspective; a Side-Story of sorts, if you will. Will they survive the war intact? Or will it and other things claim more than just lives? Elements from later games preserved and sometimes included.
1. Prologue

_Author's note: I wrote the introduction as a sort of brief synopsis of the start of StarFox64, just for those who might not have played it or don't quite remember it. With this in mind, this is probably extraneous; however, it's still practice for me._

_This is my first fanfiction ever, so in all likelihood, this will probably suck greatly. But, I'm doing this as a sort of a creative outlet and to try something new, expand my horizons, whatever. Point is, it's likely to be really bad, but I'll never know unless someone tells me._

_The story follows a group of original characters in the setting of the Lylat Wars. Team StarFox is currently just a mercenary squadron to them, so there'll be little mention of the team. If I do feel inclined to later on and the characters face off against anyone canon-based, I'll tread extremely lightly and be excruciatingly careful so to not ruin . . . something. Heck, I don't know._

_Enough of this, though; let's get this started and see if it flows like a story should._

**Prologue**

In a galaxy quite distant from our own, a rather peaceful race of being reside. Their kind knows diversity, with many variants in species, type, and in as many ways the imagination could possibly believe; however, they also know peace. Despite the many differences, every last one of them lives not for survival of the fittest, but for coexistence in harmony.

Near the beginning of recorded history and following a rather bleak and catastrophic Dark Age, the people of the Lylat system began to truly see eye-to-eye. Because of this harmony, they were able to expand themselves beyond simple borders of religion and distrust, and push toward achievements to cause their peace to ever last. Some disputes still arose from time to time, as such is only nature itself; however, it was never anything serious and solutions were easily found in a quick and civil manner.

Without a need for war for many centuries, the Lylatians and their civilization would grow at a steady rate, unhindered by arguments and pushed by acceptance. However, as true as the saying that nothing will last forever, the system soon found itself within a fit of controversy.

A truly brilliant mind awoke in the turn of the most recent century, and he was the basis of the turning point the Lylat system had never seen or expected. His intelligence allowed him to cognitively perceive things beyond anything anyone had ever imagined. Upon reaching adulthood, he quickly found himself the lead scientist for his home planet of Corneria.

With his mind, they were able to push forward so far in development, that they easily surpassed any previously recorded speeds in history. Their space programs flourished, modern society boomed, and conveniences advanced, leading to a period of prosperity marked as the highest point ever.

However, there were several flaws among the scientists planning, ones that caused quite a number of uprisings against many of his experiments. So confident was he, that he rarely sought to protect many of the things he tested, claiming that his calculations were so flawless, nothing could possibly go wrong. But even with the most thorough planning and execution, the public and those involved with the scientists' work knew fear and apprehension, the kind not felt since before recorded history.

In many respects, the scientist still had several childhood tendencies, and when others sought to see that he wouldn't get his way, the scientist would find ways around them, tantrum or otherwise. The spatial anomalies inside and near the rim of the Lylat system are just some of this scientist's more controversial works, unnaturally formed in the shapes of the letters X, Y, and Z. Many others were simply kept hidden from either the public or his superiors.

Until one fateful day, everything changed.

The scientist struck. He had many enemies at the time; however, one was the most outspoken. Eventually, the scientist sought to silence the man, using several experiments in succession, until eventually just planting a high-powered explosive in the right space, at the right time.

But for once, things did not go as planned.

The scientist's enemy was nowhere near the bomb when it went off. Ironically, his wife, that had told him to stay home that day, was the one killed. The brutal death caught everyone off guard, even the scientist. He never meant for the death of an innocent in his plan, and he never had any of his plans fail before.

Things unraveled from there.

The investigation teams never were able to link the scientist to that death, as he'd been able to thoroughly cover his tracks on that case; however, he wasn't so lucky on several others. Many of the experiments that had been secret for several years were slowly uncovered as they fruitlessly sought to link the scientist to anything they could involving that act of terrorism—which ironically happened to be its original purpose, to stop his opponents from considering going against him.

With each piece that was uncovered, it was another weight on the scale to push toward the scientist's sentence. Since the society had felt they'd moved beyond any death penalties, it was pushed that he'd suffer a fate supposedly worse than death: exile.

And so, the scientist was sent from the Lylat system, deemed to never be able to return. And with that, everyone felt they could rest easy, confident that things could continue as they were before the scientist appeared in the universe.

They never thought he'd return.

The Lylat system had been woefully unprepared when the rogue scientist, who had taken refuge on the supposedly barren and toxic planet of Venom, declared war against the fourth planet, and his former home, Corneria. At first, it was taken as a sick joke, sure that the scientist was long dead; however, when he proved himself quite healthy, not a single person laughed as he took over his first few planets, starting with Macbeth—the heart of Lylat's aerospace industry.

The Lylat system was shocked. The scientist had managed to mass an army of a nigh uncountable number in seemingly little time at all, all willing to die for his cause: revenge.

With the Lylat system never seeing such a massive war within recorded history, this was not named so simply. It was a massacre. Several planets fell to the rogue dictator of Venom, as did numerous sectors of space, while drawing nearer and nearer to his goal of Corneria. Hoping to right their mistakes, the military fiercely retaliated, hoping to push back Venom's troops, but it wasn't enough. Because the scientist had been there through most of Lylat's troop production, his own troops were easily able to wipe out any who opposed.

As Corneria grew cornered, hope was quickly fading as the rogue scientist sought to make sure that the last thing to pass through Lylat's citizens' dieing thoughts was the name _Andross._

As the sectors remaining dwindled, Corneria continued to fight with all its might. A region near Corneria, just outside of an asteroid field and nearest to a nebula formed by one of the scientist's passed experiments—Sector Y, has been taking increasing casualties over the past week, constantly losing ground along with their numbers. It wouldn't be long before they, too, fell.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"We're so dead! We're screwed!" a young rat screeched into his headset's microphone, panic quickly enveloping him, "I can't believe they got him!"

"Stop that! Calm yourself, Chief PO," a voice answered him, oddly cool and falsely collected, but gaining in aggravation.

"Don't you call ranks on me! We're gonna die out here, just like the rest! Just one sh—Ahh!" the rat cut himself off as a stray laser grazed too close to his ship's wing, causing a light flash as the shield absorbed much of the glance.

The battle had been going incredibly poor. The two wingmen had just lost their squadron leader, and with him, the last member of their squad besides themselves. It was times like this that made the rat wish he was still in a warm bed somewhere, away from this insane conflict. He almost let his mind wander, back to simpler times, but it easily reminded him of why he was in the fighter craft in the first place.

"Focus, damn you!" the voice over the link hissed at the rat, causing the rodent to tense up. "We've been through a lot. You have to trust me. Remember the Academy, when things always seemed lost? You were the calming voice then. What happened?"

"This is different! We're not—"

"No, it's not!" the voice cut him off, mid thought. "This is no different than the training we got. Now, think, focus, and concentrate. It's just you and I, again, just like those academy exercises."

"But what abou—"

"It's gone, Riley," the voice sighed out. Riley could just see his friend's masked face shake slowly as he dipped his head slightly, "There was nothing we could do. The entire ship's been blown up."

"When!?"

"Sometime during that last dogfight, the same that just took out Carasal," Riley's friend said, reminding him too soon about what had just occurred. "Apparently, the cover left behind just wasn't enough. Didn't you notice that we never got any new orders, or asked of a status report? We're all that's left of the _Armedaes_."

Riley could feel his heart sink; they'd served aboard that ship for nearly a year now. While things had been relatively quiet during that time, it still gave rise to camaraderie among crew mates. But now, they were all gone. _All those people . . ._

The voice broke Riley out of his sad reverie, "We have to move on, now. Don't worry, we're definitely not going to let them get away with it."

Before Riley could even ask, much less finish the thought of his question, his friend continued, "We'll attack the line of capital ships ahead. Now, don't start. Yes, we can do this. We're wingmen, and as long as I fly by your side and you follow my lead, I'll take all the attention. Can you cover my back, if I assure you nothing will happen to you?"

The rat was taken aback. Never before had his friend asked, only either demanded or just acted. He was about to get suspicious if it was really his friend flying next to him, but the situation called his attention. They needed to act, and likely, if Riley said 'no,' his friend would act alone anyway.

There was only a second's hesitation before the rat answered, "Of course. I still owe you from the Academy. I . . ." Riley paused, not sure how to continue.

"Thank you. Follow my lead, side-by-side. We're making a strafing run on the line first. Be quick, be light, and hit hard. Ready?" They were approaching the line quickly, and soon would be the time to act. Riley's friend paused only for a moment, as if waiting for the rat to answer. But, just as the rat parted his lips to speak, his friend interrupted, "Good."

Riley cracked a grin. His friend's attitude didn't seem to have taken a hit after all.

The line was just at the edge of their firing range by the time the ships noticed theirs. A rain of laser fire spat out as the two fighters took evasive maneuvers, bobbing and weaving among one another in a spectacular fashion. For a slim moment, the firing seemed to break, which Riley's friend answered with a shout. "Down! Now!"

Both fighters darted downwards, just as the lasers picked up again, showering their previous location just slim nanoseconds after they dodged. "Bank up, cross, and I'll take port. Go!"

They knew their part, and just as each crossed the other's path, they jammed their afterburners in unison. They'd each have seven to eight seconds of full-power, all of which would need to be utilized wisely.

Each ship passed by like a blinding flash, and the fighter's G-Diffusers fought to nullify the effects from the suddenly acceleration. Upon approach of each ship, the fighters sought purchase on the hull, raining down on anything that looked remotely destructible. Most of the hull plating on each held out; however, cannons, sensor beacons, and anything that wasn't practically bolted down wasn't so lucky.

Crippling several of the ships, the fighters pulled away after once again crossing the other's path. Their sensors beeped, registering that they'd picked up a few fighters on their run. Neither of them spoke, though. They acted and immediately covered the other's back.

Again seeming to dance with one another, the fighters took one another's path and setup a collision course with one another. Spiraling opposite one another each fired behind the other, attacking the pursuing vessels. The enemy fighters didn't have time to react to the mild confusion. And if the cover fire wasn't enough, as the two fighters passed right by one another, each set another collision course with the remaining ships, blowing them out the sky. When all was done, Riley had taken five down, while his friend only struck down four.

"Good; excellent. Now, second to last in the lineup; it seems to be having the most trouble after our assault. Take it down!" Riley's friend didn't miss a single beat. The two banked around and headed for the labeled target, lasers searing past each of them.

The rat caught his friend taking a deep breath, adding in, "Engines, starboard side. Missiles to the section attaching the bridge. Go!" It was times like this that Riley really wished he knew where his friend got his strategies from, but the time to think would come at a later time.

The elongated cruiser sat before them, with others flanking either side as well as one over its dorsal area. It was a tricky run to say the least, but Riley had confidence in his friend's planning. The rat started firing his cannons into the starboard engine, before pulling up and locking his missiles upon the neck of the bridge. The bridge's high perch took the missiles with all the grace of wet paper being sucked up by a vacuum and collapsing in on itself due to the wild decompression.

His friend's ship took over where Riley left off, launching a single missile alongside several streams of green laser. The missile hit the sweet spot, opened up due to all the laser strikes, and rippled into the core. Upon ignition, it set off a cataclysmic explosion that consumed the engines entirely.

A chain of flames erupted along the hull, and upon reaching the collapsed section Riley made, lit ablaze furiously. The wounded bridge launched upwards, colliding with the ship that was protectively flying above the now defunct vessel and shattering upon impact—also wounding the cruiser above.

Riley was too busy reacting with exhilaration over the completed assault even to take notice of the change in combat ahead. Several ships were being recalled to the Venomian line, in response to the attack the two just finished. However, before Riley could truly celebrate, a scream crackled over his communication link.

Searching his sensors, he found a weak reading that was once his friend's fighter, moving away from the combat area at increasing speeds.

"No!" Without thinking, Riley immediately gave pursuit. The wounded fighter turned out to be too fast, however, and he was unable to catch it. He could only watch in horror as the craft drew further and further away, while his own ship's warning of an overheat blared in his ears.

"Tope! Come in! Tope!?" He panicked. Nothing like this had ever happened before. He'd always considered his friend to be perfect in execution while piloting nearly anything, to the point that the rat was always jealous of his masked friend.

Now, something seems to have gotten the thought-to-be invincible vulpine. It shook Riley to the core. "Do you read me?! You have to slow down!" His fighter automatically slowed its pace, programmed to prevent the engines from critically overheating. Unable to do anything else, the rat pleaded into his link. "Tope . . .!"

The next moment would be forever burned in his mind. The signal seemed to list more downward before an explosion erupted. When the light cleared, there was no visible trace of Tope's fighter. There wasn't even an IFF broadcasted anymore.

Riley could only let his mouth fall slack as his fighter's limited sensors picked up no trace anymore of his friend. As enemy fighters were closing in on him, the rat had only seconds to live while in shock.

_Tope . . . Tope Azaline is dead._ It was like losing a brother to him. Tope was just about the only person Riley felt as close as he did toward. Not even on good terms with his large family, the vulpine was just about all the rodent had for friends, and now, it was all gone.

With a deep breath and grit teeth, he admitted silently into his now silent comm., "Goodbye. . . my friend."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

A direct hit made the rat's fighter buckle wildly, its shields flickering under the strain. The violent rocking woke Riley out of his mourning prematurely. Just then, the rodent's temper flared as he screamed into his still dead line, "You did this! Dammit, why!? How?!"

Of course, there was no answer; his frequency wasn't tuned into enemy lines, but his cries did nothing to abate his anger. Instead of being in shock or paralyzed with sorrow, he flew into a rage, completely ignoring his ship's readings and damage reports.

His arrowhead shaped craft banked hard, screeching in a tightened emergency turn. His flight brought him around before the three on his tail had the chance to complete a turn of their own, and while his body was able to hold up in the pressure, his G-Diffuser wasn't taking the turn too well as it lit up several of his panels in warning.

But he didn't care anymore. As he swung about, he readied his last missile, launching it ahead of the banking fighters. When they tried to split, he shot the missile with his cannons. The explosion destroyed one of the craft while sending the other two spiraling away.

Choosing one to pursue, Riley immediately sought to firing upon the damaged hull even before his reticule flashed for a lock. The lasers tore through the shieldless fighter, ripping through the engines and cockpit in a fiery flash and blowing the craft into space debris.

Quickly checking his remaining sensors, he realized the last fighter was on an intercept course from behind. He didn't think, instead just jammed on his thrusters in an extremely sharp climb. As the enemy attempted to follow, Riley cut his engines and twisted in space using just his G-Diffuser and maneuvering thrusters alone until he faced the opposite way, then throttled at max.

This threw him into a extremely sharp loop, and immediately as the enemy appeared in his sights, he let loose a torrent of fire. Each shot pounded away at the remaining shields, and when there were no more reactant green flashes, the enemy fighter went into a death spiral, missing his ship and sparking wildly away—it exploded only a few kilometers away.

Dogfight finished, Riley's breath pumped in and out his lungs. Alarms in his cockpit were blaring aloud, scolding him for overusing his systems and nearly burning out his engines. Even though he felt physically exhausted at this point, he still wanted more.

He just wanted revenge.

Upon a quick glance at his long-range sensors, he saw that enemy forces have indeed breeched the line of Cornerian fighters and were now attacking the virtually unprotected capital ships and carriers. Seeing his chance, Riley jetted off toward the nearest one; not to help, but to be rid of more enemies.

The first ship in his path stood no chance in his surprise advance. The next three met similar fates, now nothing more than wreckage floating about, sparking with what power still remained in their exploded fusion cores.

He reached the first cruiser that was under attack, not thinking about signaling his approach. The anti-aircraft cannons were still blaring fire as he engaged in his first of many dogfights, giving an intense backdrop to the situation.

Both his enemy and he laced about the lasers, launching their own at each other in hopes of striking their target. Riley was under fire, gaining two on his tail, as well as taking a few hits from misplaced friendly fire. His consoles sparked as his shield attempted to dampen the blows, and his G-Diffuser started reacting horribly.

Inside the cockpit, the pressure from his maneuvers began to build and dissipate wildly, pushing Riley to the brink of a blackout several times. His flight suit did its job against most of the G's he pulled, but it was his determination to survive at this point that kept him awake.

Finally, his opponent made a mistake, and his lasers found purchase on its shields, eventually tearing into its engines. With his first target down, the rat turned his attention on the two behind him.

He attempted another hard, emergency turn, but the power levels within his G-Diffuser couldn't handle the strain. Under a spark, a panel to his side burst, sending a piece of shrapnel into his arm.

He didn't stop, pushing his body and his ship harder into the turn. He screamed aloud as the wind from his lungs was shoved out. Seeing the ships in front of him, his vision blurred, yet he was still able to hit the two ships as they attempted to break their formation. One of them was too damaged, blowing apart easily.

Riley gave chase to the other, jamming his thrusters as he pulled out of the turn. Again, the sirens blared, and again, he ignored them. He really couldn't care as blood began to drool from his nose. That last fighter had to go down.

Approaching at a ludicrous pace, the enemy ship burst apart more and more with each shot, but it wasn't fast enough. Just before the craft was completely destroyed, Riley's ship rammed into its remains, parts and chunks bouncing off what little shields remained. Fluctuations about his shield grid, though, leaked a number of chunks through, battering his ship. His port wing got sheered completely off, while a sizable hunk skipped off the fuselage mere meters from the cockpit shielding.

With maneuvering thrusters to compensate, Riley came to a slow crawl just as his engines killed to only 10 power. His chest was heaving heavily as he scanned about with squinted eyes.

Suddenly, his sensors flared as a craft from behind took a pot-shot, piercing through his shields partly and striking into his hull. As the craft attempted to retreat, the rat actually snarled, growling as deeply as he could in his cockpit.

But just as he attempted to give chase, as message broadcasted over the Cornerian military frequency for the area. "Troops in the area, fall back to section 42-D-86. I repeat, you are to retreat to section 42-D-86, immediately. This is a code red order."

"Dammit!" Riley slammed a bloodied fist on his communications console. Huffing in the confined space, reality finally hit him. The pain his hand and all over his body woke him from his suicidal frenzy, and he realized that he couldn't fight any longer than he had. And if his body wouldn't give out first, his ship surely would.

A red flare launched from one of the Cornerian cruisers, quite an odd sight considering flares had all but been phased out decades ago. But Riley recognized the warning.

Giving a heavy sigh, the rat transferred all remaining power to his ship's shields and engine output in hopes of being able to flee the area. Plotting a course and applying a slow, even pressure to his thruster, his ship started forward.

Until it sputter silent.

"Dammit!" his screams echoed off the synth-glass. "C'mon . . . c'mon, go!" Rebooting and scanning his remaining systems, he sought to fix the problem temporarily.

His hands working furiously over many of the consoles; he rationed out power to the shielding over his engines, forcing them to hold. Flipping a few more switches, he removed the safety on his engine controls that prevented it from overheating, and therefore exploding. If his plan failed, he'd be too dead to care about anything.

Sighing again, he closed his eyes as he reactivated his thruster, praying to whoever would listen. There was a huge jolt that rocked through the craft before forces unseen shoved him rudely into his seat—his G-Diffuser having failed and powered down sometime before.

Forcing himself awake through the turbulent travel, his craft zipped along as he hoped to catch up to the ships ahead of him. Meanwhile, the red flare was in the middle of a guided arc, leading it in a downward path much like it would've taken had it been launch in a gravitation enriched environment. Two seconds after it started its arc, it burst into a wide array of colors . . . before strangely bursting again.

Shockwaves spread about from the area of the first and second burst, highlighting and rippling each color that it passed through. Finally, when the shockwaves grew far enough away, a blinding, searing whiteness filled the area, bleaching any whose sight glanced at the spectacle.

The Venomian cruisers didn't know what to think. This had been a new, recently developed technology, and as such, served its part as a complete surprise perfectly. Each ship's systems sparked wildly before shutting down completely. Those that weren't protected were fried, some repairable while others requiring fires to be extinguished before any hope of work could be done on them. The fighters that were out at the time held no chance, everything aboard frying within an instant and leaving them virtually dead in space for the crippled capital ships to retrieve when their remaining systems rebooted.

And it was this effect that caught up with Riley's ship as it sped away from the field, behind all others. Consoles showered him with sparks, searing into his right hand partially. He'd been able to pull the paw away before any permanent damage was dealt, but at that moment, his ship simply went black.

Cursing as his ship was now completely out of his control, a victim to its own momentum, he began to seek a way to repair what he could in functioning order. Briefly, he considered the emergency life-support container next to his seat, but his instincts told him that there was no time.

His left hand worked furiously, toggling switches and buttons in hopes of getting something, anything to work. After a few minutes of fighting the forces pushing him into his seat, he almost thought of giving up and awaiting his fate.

But just then, some of the sub-systems kicked in. With the remaining power in his engine's fusion generator, his ship took on an eerie red glow. Various indicators told him what was left, while one to the side basically told him how much longer he had to live.

Six minutes was how much longer until either his backups ran dry, or he lost life-support and pressurization completely, or he lost containment in the fusion generator.

He really didn't know, but he didn't dwell upon it and waste time scanning for what was wrong.

As his ship automatically cut its own momentum, reaching a near-crawl, his eyes glanced about each of the panels for his communications unit. To his superior luck, it had been one of the consoles fried in the flare's wake. With another curse, he went about fishing out a backup, somehow.

Two minutes later, he'd managed to rig the remains of his unit into partial working order, using a backup headset and emergency beacon to help regulate the sparking mess of a console. Connecting the final two wires, his ears were met with a shrill screech above anything mortally possible.

Screaming another curse, he swung his hand in its direction to break the wires' connection and cut it into silence. Riley took a moment to think as the headache and the ringing in his ears dulled. _What did I miss?_

Then it dawned on him. He rerouted what he could from the original unit, sending it more into life-support than shields—hoping to contain whatever the next problem that would arise. His left hand fumbled about again, reconnecting the two wires as his eyes squinted in anticipation of another screech . . .

It never came. Instead, his senses were met with the familiar _click_ of a working communications terminal.

Sighing, he then activated the transmitter on the emergency beacon—which while mostly used in downed craft that landed planet side, came especially handy here—and subsequently activated his mike to all frequencies, with emergency priority.

"Mayday! This is Armedaes-067. Does anyone copy?" He repeated himself once more before adding, "I've sustained heavy damage. My fighter will not hold for long. Is there anywhere I may have clearance to land?"

His message was only met with a stark silence, causing him to shutter and squint about through his cracked cockpit in hopes of finding any nearby.

After fiddling with the make-shift unit again, he repeated himself with greater urgency, "Mayday! This is an emergency! My craft has only so much left in her. Does anyone copy?" But still, he received nothing in reply.

And just as he was losing hope, a voice emanated from his ship's internal speaker, sending a spark out as it garbled most of it. After a surprised yelp escaped his mouth, Riley smacked his hand upside the console. Surprisingly, his strike seemed to have worked, as the voice repeated itself in greater clarity.

"Armedaes-067, can you respond? This is the _CDF Freya's Blessing._"

"_Freya's Blessing . . ._" Riley's voice drifted off as he could swear he'd heard the name of the ship _somewhere_. "Oh! _Freya's Blessing,_ this is Armeda—Look, I don't have long, and formalities take too long. Can you give me coordinates and a place to land?"

"Affirmative, sir," the voice responded with what sounded like a chuckle. "Coordinates are . . . 69 North, 15 East from your current heading. You are cleared to land in the forward docking bay." Then, after a slight pause, "Do you require assistance to land?"

"I just might. Keep your sensors on me to make sure I don't accidently ram into anything important." Much quieter, he muttered, "She's flying like she's had a few too many to drink," before closing with, "067, out."

He literally cut the wires in his line, and rerouted power again among his remaining resources. There wasn't much time, so he was under quite the deadline to pull this last stunt off.

The _Freya's Blessing _was a Dragoon-class vessel, equipped and produced as a back-up ship to a larger one, while still being powerful enough to hold its own if caught alone. Unlike the _Armedaes, _this ship was meant for quick strikes, to be in and out of a battle and have its fighters do most of the dirty work for her.

Unique in her design, she was much shorter in length than most capital ships built. Her engines sat at the far back of the main hull, attached by tubular connections so that they may be shed if in an emergency. Two sets of three thrusters rested within a round tube, holding smaller wings that were protruding from the top and bottom. The main bridge sat upon a large, angled neck, positioning it near the center of the ship. On each side, long vertical strips jutted toward the front, giving the ship sleek angle overall. Complementing its design overall was one highly angled fin pointing toward the back, positioned behind the bridge, as well as two long, thin wings attached just under the engines, sweeping back elegantly.

As Riley's small, arrowhead shape fighter made its approach, the first thing the rat noticed was just how different his quaint little craft was compared to the behemoth in front of him. Unlike the green coloration, the Dragoon-class carried an azure tint as highlights to a darker blue on the engines and bridge. Even the metallic silver on the ship was slightly different. Overall, the ship was unlike anything the rodent had ever seen or heard of. The only thing the two had in common was the varying levels of laser scarring produced from the previous battle.

He seriously doubted his earlier suspicions of knowing the vessel already.

Curiously, upon checking his sensor readings, the Dragoon-Class seemed to give a false reading, suggesting its mass was actually that of a full on battle cruiser despite the smaller size. However, Riley just shrugged, assuming his sensors were still fried from the flare.

Upon closer approach toward the larger vessel, the front side of the hull seemed to open as though it were a great maw. As the jaws locked open, a series of holographic bars showed the way, acting as a portable landing strip to guide vessels.

Glancing down at his readings, Riley noticed he only had maybe thirty seconds left in his little ship. Instead of panicking, he just sighed, hoping that it was enough.

He eased his throttle up, then down, for a decreased pace, and angled his nose upward slightly. When he entered the hold, there was a sudden shift as the ship's artificial gravity kicked in, tugging his ship downward. He had to fire his thrusters at a greater rate, using retrorockets and maneuvering thrusts to steady the fighter.

Easily, ever so gently, he lowered his fighter to the deck, only scraping and bouncing lightly.

No sooner than as he touched down too, his timer ran out, and all his systems shut down with a lowering whirr and a near-silent hiss—which Riley mimicked slightly with a sigh of his own.

Now safely within the confines of the ship, the hatches began to slowly reset themselves, closing tightly with both a click and a hiss. But, even as the hatches were still open, there were people moving about the hold, securing ships, repairing other, and just generally being unfazed by the gateway into space so close by.

As others began their approach on the clueless and wowed Riley, he thought it'd be polite of him to open his canopy. Flipping the appropriate switches, he was almost surprised when the synth-glass started to lift itself. However, it stopped halfway and needed to be pushed the rest by hand.

Wincing after unconsciously using his right hand, the rat fought to get himself from his seat and stand at attention. He didn't make it in time, as the others were already standing in front of him, just watching.

After clearing her throat, the one standing in front of the rest stated, "You're injured, soldier. Stay put so others may assist you properly." When she got incredulous look in return, she scoffed and indicated with her finger, "You, _stay_," before turning to order the three others around her on what to do.

They nodded in compliance, two helping the injured pilot from his place, and the other scanning the fighter for any cause for immediate concern.

When she got a nod that everything was currently as fine as possible given circumstances, the one in charge in turn gave a thumbs-up to those waiting further back and waved them in. They too complied and got to work on Riley's vessel.

Meanwhile, Riley had been taken from his ship and sat down on a bench that resided inside a nearby cubby. He'd also received some basic tending to his wound, having the foreign object removed and a bandage tugged and tied over it. As the female raccoon in charge of his fighter since docking strode over, the rat was busy simply staring at his removed helmet in his lap, tracing a crack that he didn't remember being there.

"I would call your attention, soldier, but it seems you've been through enough." In response, she only got a very slight glance from the pilot. "Petty Officer, right?"

"Chief Petty Officer. . ." the rat muttered under his breath, still not looking up and shivering slightly in spite of himself.

"Right," she ignored Riley's apparent attempt at trying to be left alone, "You'll be brought to sickbay soon in order to take care of those wounds and anything else, so there'll be nothing to worry about there. And you'll get used to the climate difference here on the _Blessing _sooner or later; the Captain likes to keep things colder than most, for his own personal reasons that should be pretty obvious when you meet him."

When she got no reaction from the pilot, not even so much as movement, she asked in a forced neutral tone, "Soldier?"

"Riley . . ." his voice drifted off as he sent to correct himself, "Chief Petty Officer Riley Faust. And I'm . . . just a little shook up. War's hell, huh? It's difficult to fly without wingmen to help you flap," he fumbled for a joke.

"Only one left, huh?" She took a moment before answering, her ring-tail swishing absently behind her, "Look, Faust, I really can't hope to sympathize with ya." Adding, she mused, "Losing an entire squad is hell. I've only got the plants that I've killed or pets that seemed to vanish. I can, however, suggest that you not dwell on it. Would those lost want you to suffer their fate because you were too wracked to think properly?" Inserting her paw directly into his field of vision, she finally introduced herself, "Lieutenant JG Alana Browning."

At first, he considered shrugging her off, but she at least seemed to be attempting something friendly. With furrowed brows, he took her hand into his for a shake and finally looked up at her.

And his serious expression went slack, eventually falling into something of a bewildered look.

She was a full foot taller than him, having to bend down just to get her hand within the rat's sights. Covered in an oil soaked jumpsuit, she stared at him with the bluest of eyes he could ever remember, putting his grey, colorless eyes to shame. Between her rounded-tip, triangular ears, her hair was short-cropped and conservatively tied back, though it seemed to be disheveled in places due to her job. Her round, smooth, and gentle face held an even look to it, before shifting into more of a furrow of its own out of annoyance.

"What?" she demanded rather than asked. "Please tell me that you're not so dense as to have not noticed that I'm a woman until just now." After a half-hearted pump of his hand and a slight wince that was elicited from him, she retracted hers, only to feel the sticky, crimson fluid added from his injured hand. "Oh, that's great. Alright, I'm getting back to work, likely to fix _your _fighter," she spoke, her tone shifting more accusingly and cold. "Oh, and the Captain wants to meet with you before you report to sickbay."

Following her indicating finger, Riley nodded and went to get up. With his face still locked in a rather distant look, he went to move in the that direction, only promptly tripping over his fallen helmet and landing in the space next to Alana's feet—the helmet having landed sometime during their handshake, and him completely failing to notice both the sound and the lack of weight on his lap.

Alana's clean, left palm found its way over her face as she shook her head slowly. "Oh, reading the information from your fighter's going to be _so _interesting," she mumbled to herself, just loud enough for him to hear as well.

Just as she started to take a step away from the downed rat though, she stopped. She almost felt sorry for him, landing on an unfamiliar ship and lost due to the fact that the ship he was stationed on must no longer be there—after all, not many other reasons for a pilot to request an emergency landing on a different ship. Reaching down, the raccoon engineer helped the pilot off the deck by use of his uninjured arm.

Sighing, she chided, "Left foot first, _then_ right. And pick up your junk before you leave." In a softer tone, Alana advised him, "Getting used to the gravity in here should take as much time as the climate. Again, Captain's personal reasons," before strolling back to the damaged fighter.

Frowning at himself for his clumsiness, Riley scooped his helmet from the floor and proceeded toward the way indicated. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his pace even; his gait fell into something between a saunter and a limp.

Being led by those nearby down sterile, brown-carpeted hallways, the rat found what seemed to be the ship's briefing room. Inside, it was quite generous in space, both utilizing the latest in holo-tech and making there appear more space than normal. Chairs were arranged in an auditorium type pattern, giving the floor in front the attention of all who were seated. And down in front stood two men, one a tall, green lizard dressed as though he just exited a spacecraft himself and the other, an equally tall and wide husky with thick fur as pure as newly fallen snow, built as though he were ready to survive the toughest winters on Fichina.

Nervously, Riley made his way down to the two of them, moving slowly in hopes of going unnoticed. However, when the husky noticed and looked over in his direction, the rat froze; when the other man's gaze fell on him as well, the rodent felt even more intimidated and cornered.

That is, until his military training kicked in. He immediately noticed the uniform on the husky; the cover that he wore between his ears, as well as the markings on his shoulders signifying the husky's rank as captain.

Sucking in his previous apprehension, Riley saluted his superior officer and remained at attention the captain told him to relax, albeit with a chuckle at the rat's shyness. "At ease, pilot. So, you must be the new arrival, just flown in with nowhere to go?"

The rodent swallowed hard at the reminder of all he'd loss, "Yea—Yes, sir! I still can't believe all that's happened. . ."

"Yes, it appears that these are difficult times for us all," the captain said, his voice deep and well-educated in carrying a commanding character. Extending his paw, he introduced himself, "Captain Samuel Moyide, captain of the _CDF Freya's Blessing._"

Slightly timid to step up to take the man's hand, the rat slowly made his way closer to them both, "Chief Petty Officer Riley Faust."

"Now then, the hard part's out of the way, right?" the captain got a reminding cough by the other man in the room, "Oh right. CPO Faust? This is Lieutenant Gaoreith Samoth."

With a grin, the large lizard took the rat's hand into his own for a strong shake, and then released it with a frown. "It seems," he showed his now-bloodied hand to his Captain, "the little CPO has sprung a leak."

Captain Moyide mimicked his lieutenant's frown while looking at his now stained glove, "It would seem so." He chuckled at the rat's increasing embarrassment, "You haven't left a trail leading up here, I hope."

"Ah! No, sir! I'm sorry, sir. I--" He cut himself off, as when he went to favor his right arm in his ashamed state, he accidentally rubbed against the fresh wound that had the foreign object removed.

At the sound of Riley sharply sucking in air, Gaoreith looked at him with concern, "Here, let me see that." After a moment's inspection, he blandly concluded, "Yep, need to take you to sickbay soon."

The captain shook his head, his white mane bunching up slightly around his collar, "You're worse than a stray pup, lost in a parking lot. If I wouldn't know any better, I'd say you left a trail on purpose just to find your way back."

Riley was completely unsure what reaction to give to his superior officers, instead falling on just giving a slight shrug.

To this, the captain sighed and went to business, "You'll have to lighten up some, CPO. Unfortunately, due to regulations, you won't be able to leave here. Despite only being here for a short while, you've already been exposed to a lot of Corneria's military secrets. Do you understand the severity of the situation?" To Riley's hesitant nod, he continued, "I'll explain it anyway, just to make sure.

"See, it's against regulations to let you leave here as long as this war goes on _because_ you not only have been exposed to some of the secrets and prototypes, but also you know of our existence. Classified information cannot be leaked." He idly pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time, before throwing them onto an occupied podium. "There are two choices from here: you can either be transferred under my command and continue on with us, or we can lock you in the brig until we reach the nearest port—which you'll be held in for the remainder of this war. Now, I don't mean to sound this way, but I have my obligation and duty to uphold. Am I to understand that the ship you were previously stationed on has, indeed, been destroyed?"

"Yes, that would be . . . correct, sir," again, it was hard for Riley to be reminded of the loss, especially twice in the same conversation, and by the same person no less.

"Then, that makes the transfer process simpler," chuckled the husky. "We'll get all the paperwork together and turned in as soon as we finish with any further skirmishes in the area. Until then, you'll be held under my command anyway, as we are currently in need of as many able individuals as possible. Is that alright, pilot?"

Riley hesitated for a moment to take it in, "Yes, sir. I . . . look forward to serving under you. Will my fighter be repaired? I'm rather useless without it."

"Yes. The ship's maintenance crew and mechanics are currently working on it, as well as others. They're quite skilled and timely in their tasks. You'll also find things a tad different here than what you're used to, I'm sure." Sam chuckled a bit, patting the pilot on the shoulder, "Don't worry about anything right now. I'm sure you need some repairing yourself, as well as refueling. Samoth will show you to the medical wing."

"Sir." They both nodded and offered their parting salutes to the captain before leaving.

As the two pilots walked down the corridors, Riley kept stealing sidelong glances toward Gaoreith. The large lizard gave off a rather intimidating aura, with a couple large scars on his seemingly always scowling face. Even the way he carried all his massive muscle in his stride seemed to keep up with this image, and even down to the yellow irises and vertical-slit pupils that were eying the rat as if slightly annoyed with him. . .

"Just ask, Faust, lest you run into someone or something." Riley didn't expect the lizard to really speak on the way, much less catch him staring and grunt out anything. The rodent stumbled for a bit as he tried to find his voice.

"Erm, sorry, sir. It's just . . . I didn't realize that there'd be any lizards in Corneria's forces. Uh, I mean to say," sounding rather rude, he again stammered to correct, "Aren't we _fighting_ lizards alongside apes? Does it feel wrong to do so?"

"Of course it _feels_ wrong. It'd be no different than you encountering any Venomian rat officer, which I have seen by the way." He sighed, shaking his head, "It's been a long time since I was on Venom, and I have no intentions of ever going back."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry? For what? You didn't know, and wouldn't have ever known unless you asked," the lizard stated plainly. "I may have not been born on Corneria, but I still consider it my home. And, for the record, Faust: I'm a komodo dragon." With a particularly toothy grin and a sidelong glance of his own, he added, "And we usually _devour _rats, especially the wounded ones."

Riley stopped dead in his tracks, not sure what to make of the last comment. Unusually slow today, he finally caught onto the joke, "Ha! You'll have to catch me first, Samoth. I'm not one to just roll over after taking a few bumps and scrapes."

It was odd for the rat to feel this comfortable around new company; but perhaps, the battle earlier was changing him. Or maybe it was the rather lax and friendly environment the ship seemed to carry. He wasn't really sure what it was, but he almost felt at home on the carrier, despite only being there maybe two hours.

He'd lost everything up until this point, and yet, was being welcomed aboard with open arms.

The rest of the walk was rather short, but filled with particular conversation. They talked for a bit about various things: spacecraft, guns, technology, family, memories, etc. Gaoreith had just finished recounting a humorous time a plasma engine backfired smoke, filling and covering in the hanger with the remains of cloth that had been carelessly forgotten in the engine's manifold, when the two reached the medical ward.

"Poor Gates caught hell for that. He even was forced to lead the clean-up! By hand, with his own toothbrush!" Gaoreith stopped, still shaking his head and baring his teeth in a rather toothy grin.

"Hah! Wow, sounds like a horrible way to spend the afternoon!" Riley finished with a chuckle of his own, before absentmindedly adding, "You know, I bet Tope would like it here too. I wonder if you two would get along any."

"Who's Tope?" the burly lizard inquired while raising his hand to open the door.

"He's . . ."And that's when Riley fumbled over his words, reminding himself both mentally and out loud that his friend was indeed, "dead."

"Oh," Gaoreith winced, "I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah," the rat mumbled, drifting into a flashback, "He was my best friend, and the best pilot I've ever flown with. We were the last of our squadron, holding our own against Venomian forces, when something went wrong. It must've been hell, spiraling out of control, knowing that your last seconds will just be some damned flash of light. . ." He heaved a sigh. "I still can't believe it happened; I can't believe he's . . ." his voice just drifted off, unable to bring itself to finish.

Gaoreith shook his head, recounting those lost and those who will be missed from his own wing. He didn't say anything, but instead just let a few faces flash before his eyes.

So, with soured morale, the two entered the medical bay.


End file.
